


get a little closer

by onlypartly (foreverkneeld)



Series: you build a fine shrine in me [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: All The Russians Are Poly And So Is T.J. Oshie, Asexual Character, Multi, Polyamory, Possessive Behavior, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverkneeld/pseuds/onlypartly
Summary: The problem with being in love with someone for over a decade is that you don’t have any illusions left. Especially if you both are professional hockey players. Sasha has seen Nicke at his worst, sweaty and pissed after a playoff loss, thin mouth pinched and a zit irritated almost to the point of bleeding on his temple, stalking away from any attempts at comfort. He’s seen him at his best, too - sweaty and covered with champagne and beer and gods only know what else, one hand still swollen enough that it should probably be splinted, absolutely glowing with victory and drunk off his ass.





	get a little closer

**Author's Note:**

> this is for kee, who will never read a word of it, and for nat angularmomentum, who read every word.
> 
> title is from Purity Ring's Fireshine.

Get a little closer, let fold  
Cut open my sternum, and pull  
My little ribs around you  
The rungs of me be under, under you

* * *

 The problem with being in love with someone for over a decade is that you don’t have any illusions left. Especially if you both are professional hockey players. Sasha has seen Nicke at his worst, sweaty and pissed after a playoff loss, thin mouth pinched and a zit irritated almost to the point of bleeding on his temple, stalking away from any attempts at comfort. He’s seen him at his best, too - sweaty and covered with champagne and beer and gods only know what else, one hand still swollen enough that it should probably be splinted, absolutely glowing with victory and drunk off his ass. 

(should ‘his best’ have been nicke broad and pale enclosed in a suit and smiling tightly at an award ceremony instead of images sasha only barely remembers through the haze of his own intoxication? maybe. sasha’s blaming it on wolf senses and hockey.)

Really what he should have done is just slept with Nicke at the draft or the first year when Nicke came to the Capitals. If he had let himself rub his scent all over Nicke’s body, had knelt between those pale heavy thighs and sated himself on Nicke’s scent in turn, maybe he wouldn’t be where he is now, losing his mind because Nicke’s wearing a short sleeved shirt and he wants desperately to bite the soft inside of his elbow.

Sanya had suggested it, flipping through a paperback with one heel propped up on the dip of Sasha’s spine, shamelessly rubbing his scent into Sasha’s sheets. Sasha had scoffed, rolling his eyes, because Nicke was beautiful, obviously, and a wolf, yes, but he’d been bitten, not born like them - like most Russian wolves were. Most bitten wolves were wary of the easy way born wolves fell in and out of each other’s arms and beds. It wasn’t their fault, Sasha knew, they had to unlearn all the stupid human rules of doing things, and even if Nicke had been born Sasha still couldn’t see him pulling someone into the nearest closet for a heavy scenting with maybe a couple of handjobs to go along with it. Nicke had looked like someone was poisoning him every time Sasha checked him joyfully into the boards at practice or Greenie had clapped him on the shoulder on the way into the locker room.

Nicke was better now, obviously, mostly because Sasha was so great at being a captain and a wolf and at everything, pretty much, except for not being hopelessly in love with his center for years, and if Nicke didn’t throw himself into goal piles with as much abandon as Sasha did, he at least welcomed them now, and made sure to scent them all in return.

Sasha is jolted out of his thoughts by a familiar scent and voice and obnoxiously black and yellow uniform.

“You gonna be so distracted for the game tonight?” Zhenya asks, tongue poking his mouthguard out in a motion as familiar as the way he jerked off. “Make it so easy for us to win; very nice of you.”

“Please,” Sasha scoffs, “Just busy thinking about sending you back to your captain in the morning smelling like you’ve been in my pack for _years_. Maybe it’ll be enough to finally get him to do something about the way you stink like unresolved pack bond.”

Zhenya smacks his ass with his stick, grinning. “Oh? You told Backstrom yet you’re in love with him?”

From two feet away where he’s doing splits, Holts glances over and frowns. Sasha smiles at him reassuringly before he turns back to Zhenya. He always leaves his helmet off until the last possible second, and that makes it easy to lean in and lick a nice obnoxious stripe up the side of Zhenya’s face before he skates away, deliberately, to where Nicke is shaking his head at him. Sasha drops to one knee beside him, grinning, because Nicke is smiling, so he can’t be that upset.

“Crosby gonna kill you,” Is all Nicke says, corralling a stray shot from one of the baby rookies before it reaches Sasha. “You make Malkin smell like you so much you know he’s gonna slash you.”

“Then we get power play.” Sasha shrugs, stretching out his hamstrings and taking deep breaths. “Besides, if he not like me do, he could put a claim.”

“Right.” Nicke smells off, for just a second, something tinged a little bitter before it dissipates into his normal ice-sweat-hockey smell. “Like that would stop you.”

“Scent is not fuck,” Sasha sniffs. “Lots of things is not fuck.”

“Crosby doesn’t exactly look like he’s ready to go for that.”

Sasha glances over to where Sidney Crosby does seem to be doing his absolute best to rip Sasha’s throat out with nothing but his eyes, and smiles and waves at him cheerfully. Sidney growls just loud enough for Sasha to hear it before he skates over to Zhenya and runs his hand over where Sasha licked under the guise of giving him a facewash. Sasha rolls his eyes.

Crosby is so possessive. Bouncing back up to his feet, Sasha checks Nicke gently. “Have good feeling about tonight,” he says mysteriously. “Gonna be good, you see.”

Whether it’s good or not is up for debate - they lose, technically, but it was the kind of game that made you feel alive, that reminded Sasha exactly how much he loves hockey and his team. Obviously it would have been better if they’d won so he could rub it in Zhenya’s face, but on the other hand he gets to watch Nicke tell the press with a straight face that “These are the ones that’s fun to play - I mean, I think everyone’s getting involved; lot of emotionals involved, so. It’s fun games even if we lost. These are the games you wanna play - we love it.”

It’s especially delightful given that Sasha knows that _Nicke_ knows exactly how much that’s going to piss Crosby off. The best thing in Sasha’s life is obviously his dogs, winning the Cup, and hockey, but the second best thing is watching Sidney Crosby try repeatedly and fail to understand the beautiful enigma that is Nicklas Backstrom. Crosby might get his hackles raised over Sasha telling him to shut the fuck up on the bench but Sasha knows perfectly well what he’s really going to be chewing over the rest of the month is _why_ Backy would have told the press so cheerfully how much fun he had playing a game that he _lost_.

Obviously, Sasha is never _not_ going to tell Sidney Crosby to shut the fuck up. Added bonus, it makes Zhenya extra mean and pinchy that evening when they’re jerking each other off and collapsing into a sated pile afterwards. Sasha pillows his head on one of Zhenya’s beautiful thighs and mouths contentedly at the line of muscle beneath his face. The scent’s not so strong here as it is in the damp of Zhenya’s neck, or at the thin, humid place behind his balls, but it does have the added benefit of being very close to where Sasha spent himself, which means that his scent and Zhenya’s is mingling in a way that’s very satisfying and also makes Sasha want to pull his fur on and let go of human words and opposable thumbs altogether.

“I know what you’re doing,” Zhenya grumbles at him, but he doesn’t move away or even open his eyes, so Sasha ignores him. “What’s Backstrom going to think when you show up at practice tomorrow stinking of me?”

“It’s not like it’s gonna be a surprise,” Sasha points out, reasonably. “It’s been, what. Eight years of it, off and on?”

“Eight years too long. Move, you’re like a furnace.”

“You can invite your captain next time. You know, because he’s not as hot as me.”

Zhenya shoves him off the bed.

 

* * *

 

When Sasha wakes up early the next morning (okay, in time to eat and be out the door for morning skate. he’s not _insane_.) Zhenya is gone and Nicke is in his kitchen, head in the fridge. The coffee maker is burbling on the counter, a cup standing ready by it.

Sasha rolls his eyes, heading for the kettle. After so many years Nicke’s insistence on the clearly inferior caffeination in the morning is still baffling, but Sasha makes sure to keep a selection of fancy coffee in his cupboards anyway, because he’s a wonderful packmate.

“Morning,” he says to Nicke’s back.

Nicke grunts something that might be ‘morning’ back, if you were slightly deaf and also a very generous sort of person. He emerges from the fridge with a string cheese log between his sharp little teeth, a carton of eggs in his right hand, and jam in his left. He drops the jam on the counter for Sasha and sets the eggs more carefully next to the stove, pulling out a pan from the dishwasher because Sasha never gets around to actually putting his dishes away and turning on the burner underneath it.

Sasha watches him make breakfast, enough for both of them with extra pepper on Sasha’s, and drink his horrible coffee, and makes his own tea, stirring in the jam that Nicke left out for him, and thinks about how pack is being at home in someone else’s house and having coffee for them when you don’t drink it and making sure they get enough protein before morning skate, and somewhere between the first and third spoonful of jam he asks, “Nicke, why we never date?”

It’s two, three, five heartbeats before there’s any air in the room to breath again, the thickness of the space between them making Sasha’s wolf want to cover his nose with both paws and sneeze.

Nicke takes the eggs off of the burner and turns it off, putting them carefully on separate places before he turns around to look at Sasha. He looks completely unaffected, which would worry Sasha, except that the eggs aren’t even halfway cooked. “You’re asking this now?” He says, any hesitation over the words completely absent, as though he’s said them in his head in English enough times that they’ve become as worn and comfortable as ‘just got to fight for it, y’know, get pucks to the net, get pucks in deep, the boys did great tonight’. “Now, Ovi? Not ten years ago, or during the lockout? _Now_?”

Sasha looks away, taking a long drink of his tea and then choking, because three spoonfuls of jam is a lot, even for him. “Everybody know I’m easy. Roll over for anybody who smell even a little bit interest. You never - never do anything. So I’m think, Nicke not want, even though Ovi is best goal scorer, best winger, best mate for sure. Is fine, I just be best friend instead, you know? Not want to ruin this.”

“Ovi -” Nicke smells distressed, which is what Sasha’d been afraid was going to happen. Stupid, _stupid_ , to risk their friendship, their on ice chemistry, for something he can’t even define lines around to tell Nicke what he wants. But Nicke goes on, “Sasha - I can’t ask you to change for me. I don’t want you to change for me.”

“What?” Sasha is confused. Maybe his English is failing him, because of what a completely fucking useless language it is.

“The way you are, with your - with the people you love. You sleep with Malkin all the time - Holts, Oshbabe, all your Russians. I’m not - built like that. I don’t like sex with other people and you love it.”

“So what, you never say anything because you never want fuck me?” Sasha’s not getting any less confused.

“You or anybody else. It’s not _personal_ ,” Nicke snarls this last word, a little bit, a hint of fang in it, and a part of Sasha is never not going to feel like someone’s hit every single one of his ‘yes’ boxes on the list when Nicke goes mean and bitey, but the larger part is concentrated on understanding what Nicke is saying.

“It bothers you I have so many people I fuck.”

“No, but it would bother you if we dated - if we were _mates_ and we couldn’t fuck.”

“Why you decide this?” Sasha asks, starting to feel a little mean and bitey himself. “Lots of things is not fuck! Lots of things I love to do, think I can never have with you! You just decide, oh Sasha, he so - so похотливый, he can’t live without get off every day! Fuck, Nicke! You not even ask?”

“I didn’t know what I wanted the answer to be!” Nicke shouts right back at him, and Sasha stares, taken aback. Nicke goes on, more calmly, “If you say, no, sorry, I don’t want to give up how I am now, then things are weird and fucked up. If you say yes, I want to be with you, I’ll just give up sex, is no big deal, then I hate everything because this is how you love people, with all of you and your body and I don’t like change that!”

“Nicke,” Sasha says, and then, gently, “Nicke, for smartest man I know you are most stupid. Is no rules about how we need be together! I can get off in shower, just cuddle with Zhenya instead of fuck, is no big deal. He bad at sex anyway.”

“Really. Just like that, like it’s no big deal.” Nicke glares at him, fairy-tale eyes in a face just as old, and his hands are resting awkwardly in front of him, smooth and slender and tapered, and Sasha loves him so much he wants to howl.

“Nicke -” Sasha spreads his own hands, helplessly. “Nicke, all these things I do with people - I have sex with some of them, yes, because for me, sex is nice! Feels nice, make other people feel nice, sleep good after. But for you, is not this way! You not like sex, of course I’m not want to have with you, because you not like! Can still cuddle, make feel nice with massage, maybe kisses - all these things are most fun and I’m like very much!”

“I don’t want anything in my mouth.” Nicke says at once, mouth pulled down mulishly. “If you - kisses are okay, but I don’t like - tongues, or -”

“No tongues, only close mouth, okay, yes,” Sasha agrees hastily, because it sounds like Nicke is saying - “But I can - kiss you? Now, maybe?”

“Nah.” Nicke has recovered himself, now, and he’s smirking even as he takes a step closer. “But you can stand there while I kiss you.”

Barely daring to breathe, Sasha obeys, eyes wide and mouth resolutely closed. Nicke leans in, a soft rush of air meeting Sasha’s lips before Nicke’s mouth does. It’s dry, and a little painful, because both of their mouths are chapped despite the tubes of chapstick Holts is constantly handing them.

But also it’s amazing, because it’s Nicke’s chapped mouth, and Nicke’s mole just an inch away, and Nicke’s murder-green eyes closed, letting himself kiss Sasha.

Who knows what’s going to come next, if Nicke is going to let him wear his horrible boring clothes or maybe let Sasha dress him in something fashionable for once. Maybe Nicke will let Sasha brag about being a good mate in public. If not, well, Sasha’s been getting Nicke towels and Gatorade and kneeling next to him for warm ups and running shoulder to shoulder with him during full moons for years now. He’s happy to let things keep on as they are for as long as Nicke wants it that way.

 

* * *

 

When Sasha calls Sanya later that night, Sanya takes one look at him and says, “You finally fucked Nicke, then?”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Sasha says promptly, and then, “And no, we didn’t.”

“But you told him you’re in moon love with him and want to have his pups?”

“Don’t be gross, Sanya.”

“You’re telling me not to be gross when you’ve been drooling after him for ten years? Ten _years_ , Sasha, and you were not subtle. I went back to Russia to get away from it and you _followed_ me here. I’m going to tell Dima and Zhenya to kick your ass if you even think about doing anything to make him dump you.”

“Why would he dump me?” Sasha’s offended. “I’m the best Russian goal scorer of all time and the most handsome one!”

There’s a long, skeptical silence.

“Also, I’m not going to do anything he doesn’t want me to do, and we already talked about it, and we’re going to take things slow.”

Sasha is starting to not appreciate how much skepticism Sanya can pack into a long silence. He tries, “I can go slow.”

“Your idea of going slow was to invite me to the baths and then suck me off in the steam room.”

“But not in the big pool!”

“All I’m saying is you might want to see what his version of slow is before you giving him a mating bite and a key to your house.”

“He already has a key to my house.” Sasha points out, sulkily, but Sanya only laughs at him, because he’s a horrible person and loves watching his friends suffer. “I’m hanging up on you,” Sasha warns.

“Good, I have to call Dima anyway.” Sanya waggles the fingers of one hand at him cheerfully. “Have fun! Use protection!” And then he hangs up before Sasha can, just to solidify exactly how much he’s the worst.

Sasha swears at him anyway, just to relieve his feelings, and then calls Zhenya.

Zhenya answers right away, shirtless and cheerful, with Varvara hanging over one shoulder and Anastasiya over the other. “Hi, Ovi! We just finished, but you can come over if you want.”

“I’m not calling for that,” Sasha says, even though he feels himself go pleasantly warm and loose at the sight of so many of his people looking so nice and relaxed and post-coital. “Listen, is Dima -”

Zhenya turns the phone around, and there’s Dima, cheerfully naked, with his phone to his ear.

“Sasha, you fucked Backy!” He shouts gleefully, and Sasha groans and hangs up. He texts an apology to Varvara and Anastasiya, obviously, because his teammates’ horribleness isn’t their fault. Then he texts Zhenya (the big moose-like one, not the bird one) ‘it’s over. i’m telling crosby you’re in love with him xoxo sasha’, because he’s also maybe a little bit of a horrible person.

The next thing is to tell Nicke that their entire team knows (thinks they know) that they kissed (made out with at least mutual orgasms). And also probably tell Nastya to take care of his dogs when Nicke murders him and buries him underneath his floorboards.

“I’m not going to murder you,” is the first thing Nicke says when he picks up. Sasha blinks. Maybe Nicke has been possessed? “Because,” Nicke goes on, “First I need to murder Sema, and probably Snarls, and I need someone to help me hide the bodies.”

Oh, good, definitely still Nicke. “Probably better murder Zhenya too, while you at it,” Sasha says cheerfully.

“Big Zhenya or little Zhenya?”

“Big Zhenya, Backy, of course! You can’t tell me you look at our little baby Zhenya and murder him!”

“I might if he keeps taking stupid stick penalties in the O zone,” Nicke grumbles, but Sasha knows it’s just for show. Even big Zhenya, grumpy baby that he is, can’t resist Zhenya when he turns on the charm.

“You really mad?” Sasha asks, hesitant. There’s not a lot he can do about it if Nicke is mad, but he’d still rather _know_.

“At you?” Nicke’s using the voice he uses with the rookies, when he wants to give them advice but can’t quite let himself joke about something serious. “No, Sasha. Unless you - has this changed your mind? Did you want it to be a secret?”

“No!” Sasha says, probably too loudly. “I mean, for sure no, unless you want. You know me, Nicke, I like to buy most beautiful new toys and show off people.”

“Show off for people or show off your people.” Nicke’s voice is very dry.

“Sure, yes, both.” Sasha thinks he could probably break Gretzky’s record in a single game if he got on the ice feeling like he does now. They’re gonna be back to back champions for sure, him and Nicke back on the same line, mates, howling at the moon and then again at something else silver. “So is okay I buy you present, yes?”

“Absolutely not.” Nicke’s smiling, though, Sasha can hear it. “But you can score me a hattrick tonight.”

“Hattrick and Gordie Howe,” Sasha promises. “Always want to rip Kane’s throat out, anyway. This is good excuse.”

“Just a long as you’re out by the full moon.” Nicke laughs. “I’ve got to go shower. See you tonight.”

“Tonight, yes.” Sasha waits for Nicke to hang up and then howls loud enough to bring all the dogs barrelling into the room. Fuck, he needs to go for a run or do some push ups or something to work through the sheer rush of joyful energy coursing through him right now. He glances down at his motley crew of dogs looking up at him curiously and grins. Two seconds later he’s shifted and out the door, dogs at his heels, heading for the woods. He has hours to kill before tonight and if he’s lucky, a rabbit or something to kill, too. And he’s feeling _very_ lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> The interview Nicklas gives is lifted, word for word, from his actual interview on NHL.com. Him being the Pettiest Bicth is very important to me as is imagining Sidney Crosby's fury and confusion over it. I didn't tag all the implied pairings but let me know if anyone needs me to and I will! Also, pk*ne can go die in a fire and the sexiest imagine of all is ovi dunking on him. (credit for this concept to the lovely bones @oveckinsbones for the inspo).


End file.
